


Just Breathe

by spf500



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 20:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spf500/pseuds/spf500
Summary: Quentin finally visits Margo to tell her Eliot’s alive; the two of them get a quiet moment.





	Just Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> A quick drabble of something I'd love to see on the actual show, but I'm not holding my breath.
> 
> Title from the song of the same name from "In The Heights." Not really about the same situation, but it is about trying to keep it together while being completely, horribly overwhelmed.

Quentin had Penny23 blip him over to Fillory, bottle of quality earth wine in hand. He figured he owed it to Margo to be the one to tell her Eliot was still alive, and no matter her reaction that the wine would help.

He also couldn’t spend another goddamned minute staring at the thing wearing Eliot’s face.

 

* * *

 

Luckily, the monster had burned itself out what with the alcohol, pills, and mild withdrawal, so Quentin figured he had a few hours before it woke up. At least half a day in Fillory time, probably. He managed to catch Margo on her way out of the throne room and asked if they could talk privately. She led him to her room.

Margo shut the door behind her, then turned to look at him, arms crossed, already braced for the worst. “Okay, what new world-shatteringly awful development are you here to tell me about this time?”

“Eliot’s alive.” He figured he might as well just say it.

Margo froze. “The _fuck_ did you say?”

“I- I talked to him, for a couple seconds. He’s _alive_ in there, Margo.” He looked up at her earnestly, willing her to believe him. He needed someone else to be on Team Eliot with him.

She took in a deep breath. “I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours having Eliot’s dead ass held up to me as the pinnacle of diplomacy, and he’s _alive?_ Christ I- I don’t know what to do with this information.”

“Be happy?” ventured Quentin.

“Of _course_ I’m happy my best friend isn’t dead, Coldwater. But this- god, why can’t anything ever be uncomplicated?” She grabbed the bottle of wine from him, took a swig.

“Everything’s going to shit in Fillory _again_ , and Eliot isn’t dead but trapped in his own body by some mistake of the gods, and I, I don’t know what to do!” Margo’s voice was rising hysterically. “Fen keeps trying to get me to cry it out, but everyone expects me to be the high king. I don’t have _time_ to cry it out! I barely have five minutes to take a _shit_ between crises, much less process” she gestured wildly, “all this!”

She collapsed on her back across her bed. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.” Quentin agreed, lying down next to her. They spent a few minutes passing the bottle back and forth, trying half-heartedly not to spill anything.

He turned to look at Margo.

“I just, I miss him, so much, Margo. Every time I see the monster it feels like a punch in the gut. I think probably you’re the only one who really gets it.”

 

They stared glumly at each other, connected by the bond of two people missing the same person.

“God, Q, how are we gonna get out of this one? Kill another god? We seem to be getting pretty good at it.”

“I don’t know if we can, Margo. Even if we get Eliot out of this alive…we still have to get rid of the monster. And then deal with how badly El’s gonna be fucked up. I’m just so _tired,_ Margo.”

Margo seemed shocked by his utter hopelessness.

“That bad huh?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “That bad.”

“Well,” she pulled herself together in front of him, “If you can’t do it anymore, I’ll do it for the both of us.” Margo always was good at fighting a hopeless battle with nothing other than sheer stubbornness, he thought wryly. She grabbed his chin.

“You listen to me, Quentin Coldwater. We’re gonna fix this, and we’re gonna survive this. Nothing’s killed us yet and we aren’t going to let it now. Do you hear me?”

He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, nodded.

“Hey, uh, can we- can we, just take a second and be sad about all of this? Can we not immediately throw ourselves into shitty, poorly-thought out plans meant to fix the unfixable?”

Margo scrubbed at her face with her hands, sighed. “Q, I don’t- I don’t know if I can do that. If I let myself be sad now, I don’t know if I can ever come back from that.”

“Well, then, be sad to make me feel better. Misery loves company, remember.”

Margo huffed out a half-laugh. “I guess I can handle that. Let me see how the royal alcohol stores are looking. I think we’re gonna need something a little stronger.”

 

* * *

 

 

One hour and a few more bottles later and things were looking as bleak as ever. Possibly this had not been the best plan.

“Everything just keeps _happening,_ all the time, Margo. Why don’t we ever get a moment to just be, be happy?” The awfulness of it all was crashing in waves over Quentin. After working so hard the past few weeks to just be _functional_ , he couldn’t hold it back any longer. You can only patch up a fatal wound with band-aids for so long before it starts leaking everywhere.

His dad was dead, Eliot trapped in his own body by some all-powerful and malevolent being, and Quentin just wanted to lie down and sleep for a hundred years.

“I hear ya.” She paused. “Do you love him?” Margo’s prying was even less subtle than usual, but he figured they were both drunk enough at this point to let it slide.

“Yeah, I- I think I do.”

She reached out to squeeze his hand. What else was there to do?

After a moment:

“He loves you too, I think.”

“Yeah,” Quentin’s breath hitched. It still hurt, after all this time. “But not enough, I guess.”

A beat.

“I asked, you know. After we got the time key, and all that. I asked. But he didn’t…couldn’t choose me again.”

Margo’s hand tightened into a death grip on his own. “That idiot. He never a decision that was good for him, you know?” She turned to look at him. “That fool is head over heels for you, and if he said anything different it was because he was scared out of his mind by your bravery. Now, we’re gonna get him back, fix this, and then I’m gonna murder him for being a self-sabotaging idiot. Good? Good.

He was unable to do anything but nod.

“Oh fuck, don’t cry, I’m gonna start crying too-fuck!”

Quentin reached out to hug her and then they were just a mess of limbs and tears and (though Margo would probably kill him before admitting this) snot.

 

Sometimes, you just needed to be two people holding each other up as you sobbed all the pain and loss and bone-deep grief out. Not a king, not a hero on a quest, just some traumatized kids, hugging each other with all the strength left in their bodies.

It wasn’t much, but it would have to do for now.

**Author's Note:**

> hey give my children a break please


End file.
